


He Who Laughs Last

by Rachel Martin (PK_preservation_project)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 11:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12816657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PK_preservation_project/pseuds/Rachel%20Martin
Summary: Deathbed confessions for Tom and Harry.





	He Who Laughs Last

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Leigh, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [P/K All the Way](https://fanlore.org/wiki/P/K_All_the_Way) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [P/K All the Way’s collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/pkalltheway/profile).
> 
> ====
> 
> Posting: Freely post, link and archive.
> 
> Disclaimer: The Star Trek universe is the property of Paramount/Viacom. This story is my property. I'm making no money off this.
> 
> Feedback welcome.

\---

Harry just wouldn't have understood. Tom scuffed his damp palms against his thighs. He really did love Harry, it was just. . . he loved the chase, too.

Of course he'd become extremely circumspect after marriage. But the danger had exponentially increased the thrill. He'd stalked targets whose need of discretion matched or exceeded his own. The take-down was orgasmic; the actual sex that followed was unimportant. He'd certainly never felt love for any of his conquests. That was reserved for Harry.

But Harry wouldn't have understood. He was the kind of person who believed in monogamy. Dutiful, reserved, sexually unadventurous -- Harry was just the sort of spouse Tom wanted. Harry had never given him a qualm. And he, in turn, had made certain that his escapades had never reached Harry's ears. Fair enough.

Tom brought up his forearm and wiped nervous sweat off his forehead onto his shirtsleeve. At least he didn't have to wear a decontamination suit anymore. The quarantine field erected around Cargo Bay Two had been deactivated yesterday, the victims brought out to die in the relative comfort of Sickbay. It might have been youth or strength or just plain cussedness, but Harry Kim-Paris had outlived the others. Tom Kim-Paris alone remained in Sickbay on this death watch.

Well, not exactly alone. The holographic doctor came around, and Janeway and Chakotay had spelled each other here over the past 24 hours. Seemed to be Chakotay's watch, now, but he'd withdrawn to the doctor's office an hour ago, leaving Tom to the company of his semiconscious spouse and uneasy conscience.

Tom kind of wished the guy would be less considerate of their privacy.

As if hearing the pilot's thought, Chakotay raised his head and looked through the glass walls. The commander looked awful -- disheveled hair, unshaven face, bloodshot eyes. No doubt he and Janeway were tearing each other's livers out over this bio-disaster. The man stared fixedly at Tom, then heaved himself out of his seat. He walked tiredly out into the bay.

Tom looked up at him gratefully, and looked again, surprised. Chakotay wasn't bothering to don the sympathetic expression he'd worn in front of every other mourner. He was staring down at Tom and his saturnine face looked distinctly menacing.

Chakotay said, low-voiced, "You can drop the act now, Paris."

"What?"

"The devoted husband act. He's as good as gone. It's okay to be the rat you really are."

Tom gaped.

"I've done some crappy things in my life," Chakotay said, "and one of them was keeping quiet at your wedding."

"Look, I don't know --"

"Well, I do. I know you're a slut. But I didn't have the balls to tell Harry." Chakotay breathed harshly. "Did you think we'd forgiven you, Paris? Marquis, Starfleet? You shithead. It was Harry. We put up with you for his sake. Watch out, Paris. You don't have Harry to protect you any more."

The commander turned and walked to the glassed-in office. He slumped back down next to the holodoc.

Tom picked his jaw up off the floor. Metaphorically speaking. He stared after Chakotay a moment, then stared at Harry. Harry disconcertingly chose this moment to open his eyes and focus intently on a spot behind Tom. Tom looked over his shoulder and saw nothing, of course. He shivered superstitiously.

He'd really expected Harry to be the last notch in the bedpost. Harry wasn't just a Paris conquest, he was the ultimate Paris conquest. A one-hundred-percent heterosexual man who'd remained celibate for years out of some misguided notion of loyalty. To a fiancee who'd probably brought a date to his memorial service back in the Alpha Quadrant. Harry was chock-full of deliciously old-fashioned values. It had been the work of years to break his resistance. Funny thing, though, once this fish had been hooked, Tom didn't have the urge to toss it back into the sea. Somewhere along the way he'd fallen in love with Harry. And really, he had intended to be faithful. And really, he was faithful. He hadn't given his affections to anyone else. That was the important thing. That was what mattered.

Tom jumped up, grabbed Harry by the shoulders and began shaking him frantically. "Harry! You know I love you? You know that?" His voice climbed, drawing attention to which he was oblivious. "Harry! You know I love you?"

Harry opened his eyes again. He smiled sweetly. He said, "I love you too, Kathryn."

Tom started really yelling.

\---

End


End file.
